Something I'm Not Read Online Free PDF

item of food the children want to eat above all else. And this year it’s cake. At this rate, we’re going to be eating sausages until next Christmas.’
    â€˜Not if Dylan keeps this up,’ I laugh, setting Eloise down.
    â€˜Dylan, dearest, can you be an angel and herd everyone into the sitting room. Harry’s about to do his clown thing and the kids never listen to me.’
    â€˜Only’, says Dylan, handing her his glass of boxed wine, ‘if you guard this till I get back.’
    Serena agrees, while Dylan walks over in the manner of a ghoul to a group of children.
    â€˜Shouldn’t really,’ whispers Serena, placing a palm over the glass. Jenny and I stare at her.
    â€˜You’re not?’ we both chime.
    â€˜No, no, no,’ Serena giggles. ‘I can’t be. I’m on the pill. Harry made me, after number five. No, it’s just that I’m so tired. Still, what the heck!’ She takes a long mouthful and places the glass on the table. ‘Although, don’t say anything, but I stopped last month.’
    â€˜You stopped taking the pill?’ asks Jenny, as if to clarify. Her honey-fed tones sound coarser somehow.
    â€˜Shhhhhh. Yes. But don’t tell Harry.’
    â€˜You old devil!’ I say, regarding my friend. Not for the first time, I wonder what it must be like to be Serena, to have let yourself go physically, producing so many children in quick succession, and to not mind. To have permanently chapped hands, and thick ankles, and bags under the eyes, and to not have time to visit the hairdressers to mask the grey. To be barely able to tie an apron around your shapeless middle – to be too busy, perhaps, to ever take the apron
off
. Now, there’s an intriguing contraceptive. Instinctively I tighten my stomach muscles. I have memorised, without realising, the duration of Serena’s four labours (the most recent baby was practically born in the hospital lift). The drama of the twins’ emergency Caesarean, for example, is seared into my mind. The most remarkable thing is that Serena never complains, not about the piles, not about the nausea, not about her girls. To spend every day juggling crisis and heartache and anarchy, and to do it all for love? That, I believe, is the most mysterious part of all.
    â€˜But you’ve got five already,’ says Jenny, taking a step back.
    â€˜I know, I know. And Harry’s been talking lately about vasectomies. Someone in his staffroom has had one and says it’s done wonders for his sex life—’
    â€˜Evidence would suggest’, I say, ‘that you and Harry need hardly worry on that score—’
    â€˜â€™Fraid not, Amber. I’m just gloriously fertile! But I was in the attic sorting out things for this party and I came across a bag of baby clothes. I took them out and began to fold them properly with a view to giving them to charity, and I realised that I couldn’t do it. All those pink clothes, the tiny dresses. How could I give them away? It would be like giving away my own children. I sat in that attic for an hour and sobbed.’
    â€˜Poor you,’ I say, putting a tentative arm around her. The warmth, the softness of Serena’s body surprises me – while her back feels strong, as do her shoulder blades. It’s as if she is more real, more genuine than me.
    â€˜Oh, Amber, you’re sweet. But I know I’m lucky. Some women can’t conceive. They’re desperate. Imagine that. Every day I look at the girls and I can’t help smiling. But you career women don’t want to hear me blather on about my addiction to soiled nappies. See! Where’s Jenny gone? I’ve been boring you all and she’s escaped! Come on. Let’s go and see if Harry’s Clarence the Clown is keeping them quiet.’
    As Serena follows me into the other room, she creeps up and whispers in my ear, ‘But I tell you, if Harry
is
planning